


Hearth & Home

by lokidoki9



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Jaskier will eventually make an appearance, Mage Reader, SO MUCH FLUFF, and some pining, domestic Geralt, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokidoki9/pseuds/lokidoki9
Summary: All roads lead home.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Kudos: 50





	1. Hearth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! If you recognise this at all it's because it has already been up on Tumblr for a little while. Same author :)
> 
> This is a pretty short fic that basically revolves around Geralt and his leading lady. No significant plot beyond their relationship, so it's more like a series of oneshots. Please let me know if you enjoy it!

Geralt must have travelled between Ard Carraigh and Ban Gleán a hundred times in his life. It was a long road, a quiet road, trailing through forest and field, with few travellers that never paid him any attention beyond a smile and a nod. He liked this road. He liked what it led to more.

The deep wound in his side stretched with each of Roach’s steps, sending jolts of pain to what felt like every nerve ending he had. Fortunately, the toxicity was beginning to sap what little energy he had left, and soon he’d feel nothing at all. Were he a normal man with a hole in his side and the pain tolerance of a mouse, he would have died hours ago, slumped over on the side of the road for the Nekkers to enjoy. 

But, as townsfolk so often liked to remind him, there was nothing normal about him. 

A shrill and abnormal shriek sounded, echoing through the forest that loomed far off in the distance. The sky had grown dark little over an hour ago, and though he usually knew better than to travel so long without rest, these were extenuating circumstances. Roach grunted and shifted nervously beneath him.

“Easy, girl.” Geralt gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, the words alone taking far more effort than they should have.

They were close now. To safety, to food, to warmth, to gentle hands and lips that were soft to the touch. Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and he exhaled a long and weary breath. A full moon bathed the road in its faint blue glow and the wind whistled between stalks of wheat and corn that stretched on down a short dirt path. 

Even in his current state, he could see a flicker of candlelight up ahead. The small cottage didn’t look like much, but to him it was as close to home as he would ever come. Roach, seemingly realising where they were, hurried along the path in a trot that had Geralt gritting his teeth. 

The thick wooden door opened and a black and white sheepdog dashed out with an excited bark, tail wagging as Roach came to a stop. She followed soon after.

Geralt tried to muster a smile, it must have looked more like a grimace because the joy in her eyes dimmed and concern soon replaced it. 

_“Collie, in!”_

The dog stopped sniffing at Geralt’s boots, and did as he was told—in good time too, because the witcher could feel his body slipping from the saddle and into hands too weak to hold him up. But hold him they did. 

Somehow he found himself inside as well, resting on soft furs by the fireplace as a damp cloth was swiped over his face. His vision faded into blurs of movement; deft hands removing his armour and cutting through his ruined tunic, a familiar face and soothing voice keeping whatever part of him was still conscious company.

His fingers ached to reach out, to feel her skin beneath their tips, to reassure him that she was more than a hallucination cooked up by his exhausted mind. 

She showed him mercy, her hand moved to rest gently against his clammy forehead and he finally allowed himself to let go. Whether it was the words she’d chanted or the drink she’d poured down his throat, he didn’t know. All he did know, was that he was safe.

* * *

He healed remarkably well. The sutures were tidy, as he expected them to be, and the white honey she’d given him had worked quickly to combat the toxicity of his potions. Geralt’s eyelashes fluttered open and he groaned.

The room was familiar, the scent even more so, and the thought of its owner had him straining to sit up.

A cool palm pressed against his bare chest and he eased himself back down, eyes travelling along her arm and up to meet her own. He heaved a deep breath and wondered if she could feel the way his heart thundered beneath her hand. The small smile on her lips told him that she could.

“Not just yet.” Her voice was soft and though he fought against it, he found his eyes slipping shut once more. 

When he awoke next, it was to the smell of stew and the sound of a rooster’s crow. His hand grazed his side and found a new scar, another to add to his collection - still tender, but healed over during the night. His joints were stiff as he sat up, and he could hear her quietly humming from her place by the hearth.

She felt his presence instantly, casting a smile over her shoulder and eyeing his bare torso. First his wound, then the rest of him. 

“What a lovely sight to wake up to.”

Geralt’s lips curled into a soft smirk.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

She placed the wooden spoon atop the small pot and stood. He was across the room in an instant, hands on her hips and forehead resting against her own. 

Her fingers trailed across the hair of his navel and up to the fresh pink scar that marred his right side. She stared at it, trying in vain to hide the worry in her eyes. 

“Sometimes I think you do this intentionally,” she murmured, “just for the attention.”

He hummed. “A small price to pay.” 

The smile his words earned was genuine, if a little exasperated, and she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. She caught his hands the moment they slipped to the ties of her dress, and he drew back with a frown.

“You’re still healing,” she chided, and he raised a brow. 

“That’s never stopped us before.”

He tugged her into another kiss and she groaned at her own weakness. 

“You always lose this argument,” he chuckled against her lips and she turned her head away with a smile.

“You smell like Roach.”

Geralt paused, sniffed, and then shrugged. 

“Fair,” he conceded. “Speaking of-”

“She’s in the stables with Lucy, fed them both earlier this morning.”

“Hm. What would I do without you?”

She gave him a pointed look. “Die, probably.”

He laughed, and it warmed her heart to hear it after so long. 

“Come. You need a bath.”

He begrudgingly let her take his hand and pull him into the adjoining room. The metal tub was already full of water, and he had to admit that it was a welcome sight. 

She pressed a hand to the surface, and in a matter of seconds Geralt could see steam rising from within. He watched as she emptied vial after vial into the water, a familiar mixture of scents wafting through the room, but he didn’t care to identify them, not when she made her way back over to him and loosened the ties of his breeches. 

She eased them down his legs, and he almost groaned at the sight of her on her knees before him. As if reading his mind, she shot him a teasing smile.

“Off you go,” she gestured to the tub and stood.

Geralt grunted, but did as he was told. 

His teeth clenched against the heat as he eased down into the water. She perched herself on a stool behind him, washcloth in hand. 

“Lean forward.”

She began with his back, rubbing soothing circles into scarred skin until it was clean and pink. Geralt watched as the filth from his body drifted through the water and vanished before his eyes. Her spellwork had always been impressive. 

“That’s new,” he mumbled as her fingers moved to comb through his hair. 

“We’d have no water left with the state you always come back in,” she teased. 

Geralt smiled, eyes drifting shut as she massaged his scalp and rinsed the dirt that had accumulated there. 

“You better not fall asleep, you haven’t eaten yet,” she warned.

“I would have eaten more than just stew if you weren’t so insistent.”

She giggled. “Always so randy after a hunt.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” he said. “And the fact that I know what’s waiting for me under that dress.”

She swatted at his shoulder, and he caught her hand. 

“Join me.”

“Will you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Probably not,” he shrugged. 

“Well, at least I found an honest one…”

She untied the laces at the front of her dress and stood. One arm slipped out of its sleeve, then the other, and he watched each inch of skin reveal itself to him as she peeled her dress down past her breasts and over her hips. It fell to a heap on the floor and Geralt sat up straighter, knees bent and parted for her. 

She settled between his thighs, a hand on each of his knees as she sank into the water. Little waves licked at her skin, and like a bee to honey, his fingers followed, sliding up her hips until they settled at her waist. The tenderness in his side became inconsequential, a minor hindrance as he drew her closer.

There was no elixir that could make him feel this, no mage that could capture in any illusion the euphoria that came with the feeling of her bare skin pressed against his own. 

He held her close to his chest, one thick arm framing the underside of her breasts, and his nose nuzzling her hair as it settled into the crook of his neck.

It almost felt sacrilegious to have his fingers, worn and scarred by years of killing, caressing her skin with the tenderness of a healer. He used to believe that his hands, covered in blood and dirt and grime, had no place being anywhere near her. But he refused to imagine that weak, normal man - the one that he _wasn’t_ \- holding her like this. He wouldn’t allow it, and she would never entrust her body to a man who didn’t also hold her heart - a man that wasn’t _him_.

Her gentle fingers entwined with his own, and she pressed a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles. Geralt’s arm tightened around her waist and she sighed contentedly. 

“Will you stay for a while, my love?” She whispered, her free hand massaging the tense muscles of his thigh.

His chest grumbled beneath her as he groaned.

“For as long as you need me.”

She hummed, a hint of amusement in her smile when she tilted her head back to look at him.

“Forever then?” She murmured against his lips, and he caught hers in another searing kiss. It had been months, and he poured every last ounce of longing he’d felt into that one kiss. _Always_ was something he couldn’t give her just yet, but _forever_ was hers a long time ago. 

His eyes were dark when they parted, pupils blown wide and fixed on her own with an adoration he’d show no other. She traced his swollen lips with a finger and he smiled.

“Just say the word…” Geralt whispered, taking her hand and holding it to his cheek.

“I will. One day, when you’ve seen all of the world and your heart is full. The day you _want_ to stay.”

He frowned, guilt clouding his mind at the very thought of her believing he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I always want to stay.”

“Yes,” she smiled, warm and fond and far too wise for her age. “But this time it won’t just be for me. It’ll be for you.”

* * *

**A/N:** Not sure if folks enjoyed this, but if you did please let me know. I have another "proper" fic that I've been posting on Tumblr, and I can post it here too if you want :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Home

It was an unfortunate fact that Geralt didn’t often visit the Isles of Skellige. His work took him to all corners of the world, but there was a particular feeling that crept into his heart when he thought of Skellige—an eagerness he hid even from himself.

When the ship pulled into dock that afternoon he felt it swell in his chest, and it showed in the way his eyes searched the crowded streets. Geralt shook his head at his own foolishness; no one was aware of his arrival. And if they were aware, they had other matters to attended to.

A great celebration was underway, the King’s daughter was to be wed and his services had been requested in exchange for a hefty amount of coin. Even without the coin, Geralt knew he would have obliged. As the flowery poets and bards of the world liked to preach, there were more important things in life than gold—and _his_ treasure was hidden away in Skellige.

“This way, Master Witcher!” Lord Balden called out from ahead.

He was a stout old man with a soft heart and an overactive mind. Geralt had stumbled upon him by chance in a haunted old church on the Continent. Lord Balden had fancied himself indebted ever since Geralt had saved his life, and had naturally requested his services across the seas as well.

Geralt didn’t bother telling him that he knew exactly where he was going—that these were streets he’d longed to see for years. He just followed.

* * *

Lord Balden had shown him to his room and then promptly disappeared, rambling on about guests and decorations as he went.

Geralt would give credit where it was due—it had been a beautiful wedding, as was expected whenever royals flaunted their riches about, but most seemed to be more excited for the feast that followed. Stuck-up lords and their prim and proper ladies had come undone under the influence of alcohol, stray hairs sticking to sweat-slicked skin and dresses fluttering about as they danced amid drunken laughter.

The noise grated on Geralt’s nerves, but he’d long ago grown used to the assault on his ears. Still, he tucked himself away in hidden corners, on the periphery where no one could bother him as he nursed an ale. He watched the crowd with sharp eyes, anticipating danger and searching, though he’d never admit it. He hadn’t seen her yet—near impossible considering her friendship with the royal family—but he was certain that she had somehow managed to avoid his line of sight.

It was a game she played in their younger years, trying her hardest to evade his sense. Her power alone would give her away, but she didn’t know then that he was hyperaware of her presence. He didn’t needs his eyes to see her. He could smell her on the wind, taste her happiness in the air. He could feel her without touch, hear her without sound.

And for a brief moment Geralt felt a weight settle in his chest. If he couldn’t sense her then perhaps she wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d left Skellige and hadn’t told him. It had been years after all and ambitions changed, people changed, and he feared that even if he did see her, he wouldn’t recognise the person she’d become. 

His grip tightened around his tankard, and his shoulders tensed with the new presence he felt at his back.

“I’m told there is a great Witcher among us.”

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut for no more than a few second—long enough to suppress the shiver that threatened to snake down his spine and send goosebumps skittering along his skin.

“Oh yes,” she continued, draping a gentle hand over his shoulder, “a hero of the highest calibre. The stuff of legend, found only in song and story.”

Geralt hummed, eyes unblinking as she took the seat opposite him. _Beautiful_. It was just a fact he could slot away with the sky being blue, and the grass green. But there was a saying old mothers would tell their daughters when husbands went off to war. Distance, Geralt knew, really did make the heart grow fonder.

Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find this brave and noble warrior, would you? I would like to enlist his help.”

“Is that right?” Geralt lips curled at the edges and he raised a brow. “He doesn’t work for free, you know.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she gave him an indulgent smile. “A favour then.”

“Two,” he bargained.

“Two?” Her eyes narrowed. “I think he’s overestimated the difficulty of this particular task.”

Geralt shrugged nonchalantly.

“The difficulty doesn’t concern him.”

She arched a brow, curiosity in her eyes. “Then what does?”

Geralt rested his elbows atop the table, and her eyelashes fluttered as his thumb gently swiped a stray off her cheek.

“The fact that it’s you,” he said, before softly adding, “and I’ll take what I can get.”

She tried to fight back a bashful smile, but knew by the warmth in his gaze that he’d already seen it.

“Charmer,” she teased, trying to ignore the ghost of his touch.

Geralt’s lips twitched.

“It’s good to see you, little mage.”

“I thought you’d gone and forgotten us,” she said, and though he could hear the humour in her tone, it wasn’t without an equal amount of sorrow. Perhaps a normal man would have also missed the way her smile faltered, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eye with the admission, but not Geralt.

He could tell her of those long journeys across the continent, the way the scenery would blur into nothingness until all he could see were the streets of Skellige. He could tell her of the strangers he met, the women he’d try to find her in and the men she’d enrapture the moment she stepped into the room. He could tell her that not a single day went by that he didn’t think of her, that he didn’t wish to return to her…

“You’re a difficult woman to forget.”

She smiled, a full and beautiful smile that would have sent a normal man’s heart racing. Geralt golden eyes greedily took in the sight he’d been deprived of for too many years.

“Ah! I’ve found you at long last, my lady!”

Her smile faltered at the interruption, if only for a moment.

“Lord Dalvis,” she greeted with a polite bow of her head, “I was unaware you were searching for me.”

“All my life,” _Lord Dalvis_ shot back with what he must have thought was incredible wit. 

Geralt’s jaw ticked at the sound of her laugh and he eyed the man who was looking at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Traditionally handsome, if a little scrawny—certainly no warrior—but a sight better than the other lordlings scattered about the hall.

“Yes, well, how can I help you?” She asked.

Lord Dalvis’s eyes softened and he cleared his throat.

“I was hoping for that dance you promised me, my lady,” his dark eyes darted to Geralt nervously, and he shifted when she didn’t answer for a few long seconds.

Whatever comfort Geralt felt at her clear moment of indecision was quickly forgotten when she rose from her seat.

“A promise is a promise,” she conceded, eyes apologetically flicking over to Geralt. “I’ll be back soon,” she reassured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze for good measure.

Geralt sighed as he watched the young lord lead her away.

* * *

It turned out that Lord Dalvis was only one of many, and if Geralt thought his night couldn’t get worse than watching her ridiculous suitors flock to her without pause, he was wrong.

He’d lost count of the amount of men and women who’d approached him with lust in their eyes, or a pouch of gold in exchange for the head of a political rival. Then, of course, were the ones who whispered insults behind his back.

_What strange eyes, very exotic, they charge double for that kind of thing down at the brothel. I can make it worth your while, Witcher._

_He’s a nasty man, really, no different from the monsters you hunt, I swear!_

_Who invited the mutant? Filthy little things, can’t believe he was allowed past the front gate._

He stood out like a sore thumb in a place like this, and in any other situation he would have left by now, but if he left he’d miss her. And he’d been missing her long enough. When she finally did return, breathless and exasperated, Geralt was holding his tankard so tightly his fingers had dented the metal.

“Forgive me. They’re worse than nekkers, they are,” she huffed with a small laugh.

Geralt’s answering smile was tight and she took notice immediately.

“I really am sorry,” she continued her brow furrowed in concern. “Lord Dalvis has become a dear friend to me, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. You do understand, don’t you?”

It was foolish of him to think that she’d be locked away in a tower somewhere barred from seeing a man other than himself, but the minuscule, irrational part of him flared bitterly. He scolded himself inwardly. How many nameless, faceless women had he been with, women that weren’t her? Even that wasn’t a thought he was glad to have.

“Of course,” said Geralt, gruffer than he would have liked, and moodier than she deserved.

He felt guilt settle in his chest when her shoulders slumped. Geralt sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “Seems I’m bad company tonight.”

He stood then, though he wanted nothing more than to stay close to her. He cleared his throat and stared off at the crowd to avoid the question in her eyes.

“You should find your lord,” the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but they were genuine. “You’re dear to him too.”

He left without another word, slipping through the crowd with more ease than a man of his size should have displayed.

“Geralt…” she called after him.

He ignored the confusion that laced her tone, and kept his gaze ahead and his feet following the same path. If he gave in, he’d have to speak, if he spoke he’d say too much, and if he said too much, he’d be handing her a hammer and his heart to shatter beneath it.

Skellige may have been her home, but it wasn’t his. He had no home, no place to call his own, nothing he could offer her that would make him a better choice than a lord whose heart raced like a hummingbird’s at the sight of her. He would give her anything she asked for, and he’d give it to her here, in Skellige. Not in some foreign land she’d neither seen nor heard of.

She deserved better than a Witcher and Geralt feared she knew it. Why would she choose him and his life of uncertainty over the comfort of home?

* * *

His feet led him outside to the balcony. It was only slightly quieter than the main hall, and if Geralt turned away from the view of sparkling waters and the kingdom laid out before him, he could see the merrymakers clearly through the ornate windows that were entirely too tall to be practical.

But he didn’t turn away, instead leaning against the balustrade with a deep frown unconsciously settling on his features.

“You look like a man with regrets.”

Geralt sighed, no matter how nice it was to see his old friend. It had been so very long, and if there was one thing that kept him sane at the thought of leaving her in Skellige, it was the knowledge that her half-brother was there to watch over her.

“Not now, Mousesack.”

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled, “I’m certain of it now.”

“I said, not now.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.”

Geralt’s jaw ticked, and he shot his old friend an irritated look. 

“Oh, cheer up, Geralt.” Mousesack clapped a hand on the Witcher’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re not here often enough to greet us with this terrible mood. The night is young, enjoy yourself! You’ve been missed far too much to be sulking over here on your own.”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder to the dancing couples.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Mousesack’s brows furrowed as he followed Geralt’s gaze, and realisation dawned on him. He laughed.

“If you truly think so, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Geralt looked back to the druid with an arched a brow. “You thought I was a fool?”

Mousesack scoffed. “Still do. And I’ll continue to do so with each day you spend pining in the shadows.”

“I don’t pine.”

“You do. Incessantly, and unnecessarily.” Mousesack’s expression softened. “She’d give you the world if you asked it of her.”

That was debatable at best, thought Geralt.

“She has a life here, a duty.” Geralt looked at Mousesack pointedly. “Family.”

“Not much of a life when it’s spent counting down the days until she sees you again. Her duty is little more than a distraction from those thoughts, and her family will remain her family no matter where she goes.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment as he contemplated Mousesack’s words. “You sound like you’re trying to get rid of her.”

Mousesack scoffed with a frustration he’d been bottling for too long.

“You don’t know what it’s like, watching her wither away. This is the happiest I’ve seen her in years, and it’s no coincidence that it happens to be the day you returned.”

It was rare for Geralt to experience remorse, but it was etched into the crease of his brow when he looked back to the dancing couples and realised that, though she twirled around with practiced ease, her smile was empty and her eyes were too busy drifting around the room to focus on her partner. She was looking for him, just as he had been looking for her.

“I know you don’t come back here for me, old friend,” Mousesack continued gently. “If you love her, tell her. I can’t keep watching the hope leave her eyes each time you set sail, and she’s too far gone to accept the stableboy’s proposal at this point.”

Geralt frowned, blinked out of his guilt-ridden stupor and sent Mousesack an offended look.

“The stableboy proposed?”

Mousesack shook his head in exasperation. _Good to see his priorities are in check._

“The stableboy, the innkeeper…Lord Dalvis will soon, no doubt.”

Geralt’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed at the horizon.

“I’ll tell her.”

Mousesack snorted.

“Good.”

* * *

When he entered the hall once more, he knew for certain that she was no longer there. Lord Dalvis was glumly sitting by himself and her presence hadn’t lingered. Uncertainty was something he tried to ignore in life—it often was the difference between life and death for someone like himself. But as he walked to her chambers, his thoughts were a jumble.

He would tell her tonight—the secret they both knew but never spoke of. He would tell her his greatest desire and his greatest weakness, and then…then he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t know what _she_ would do. 

Geralt didn’t have all that much time to think on the matter. His long strides had seen him to her room entirely too quickly, and the door eased open of its own accord as soon as he approached it—a silent invitation.

The room was dim, and bathed in the golden glow of candlelight. It looked as it did the last time he’d seen it, but he was certain that she’d grown more beautiful, and the evidence was right there in front of him, wrapped up in a pretty little pearl-coloured nightgown that left little to the imagination and glimmered in the candlelight.

The task had been difficult from its inception, and she’d introduced an entirely new obstacle it seemed. Geralt watched as she wordlessly fluffed a pillow, her face unnaturally solemn. She hit the pillow with more force than necessary, panting between strikes until he caught her wrists.

She glared down at the pillow as if it had wronged her in his place, and Geralt gently urged her to face him. She stared at his chest for a moment before she sighed.

“You’re upset with me,” she finally said, brow furrowing. “I just can’t figure out what I’ve done.”

Geralt tilted her chin up with this thumb and forefinger and gave her a sad smile.

“You haven’t done anything.”

“Then what is it?” She asked with a desperation that made his stomach churn with guilt once more. “I…I don’t understand. It’s been years and I thought…” she trailed off with a frown. “I thought you’d be happy.”

He opened his mouth, ready to reassure her that _yes_ , he was happy. But he didn’t. Instead, he told her the truth.

“Do you know why I stayed away from Skellige as long as I did?”

She stared down at her feet, the question itself seemingly bringing tears to her eyes. As if the idea of him _intentionally_ avoiding the islands was one she hadn’t even considered. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. His own voice was quiet when he spoke; his words a confession he once thought he’d take to his grave.

“I used to torture myself with thoughts of you. Knowing that if returned I could see you, touch you,” he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, “and still not have you. But I ached for more than just the memory of you. I still do. That’s why I’m here.”

She held his calloused and scarred hand to her cheek, goosebumps prickling at her skin as her eyes slipped shut and a tear rolled down to meet the thumb that would swipe it away.

“You know my heart, Geralt,” she said, voice thick. “You’ve always known.”

“I never wanted to be selfish with you. You of all people…you deserve more than I can give you.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy and cheeks moist. But there, behind the reflection of candlelight in the dark of her pupil was a flicker of another kind—hope.

“Can you give me yourself?”

It was a question that held the weight of the world. To say yes would condemn her, and to say no would be a lie. His head fell forward and their lips brushed as he answered.

“I can.”

He felt, more than saw, her smile, and despite his reservations he knew it felt right.

“Then you’ve given me all I need.”

He dreamt of having her in his arms like this a thousand times over, imagined the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin. He never imagined how intoxicating it would be. Her arms thrown over his broad shoulders, her soft body pressed against him, surrounding him as he surrounded her. He could have lost his senses in that moment, he almost did until he realised his feet were moving in the direction of her bed and she was leading them there.

“You’re sure?” He managed to ask between kisses.

“Yes.”

Geralt paused, his hands caught her waist and he pulled back for a moment. She blinked owlishly at the loss of his lips.

“Really sure,” he took a steadying breath, his control a moment away from slipping, and when she met his gaze he had no doubt that she was aware of how it had darkened.

“Because once I have you…” his jaw clenched as he watched her fingers ease the straps of her nightgown off of her shoulders. “Once I have you you’ll never be free of me.”

“You’re not leaving without me,” she whispered.

“No,” Geralt agreed. “No, I’m not.”

Her nightgown fell to the floor.

* * *

It was a quiet morning in Skellige, the day Geralt would depart. The wedding celebrations had lasted all week and he suspected that most were still nursing hangovers and sleeping their days away to catch up on the nights they’d lost.

He couldn’t judge them too harshly, he’d lost several nights too, albeit for _other_ reasons. His lips quirked when he heard the squabbling siblings following behind him.

“…yes, I already told you, I’ve checked it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with double checking.”

“No, there isn’t. But this would be the fourth time and that’s a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“It’ll also be a little unnecessary when you’re on a ship back here because you’ve forgotten something.”

“Unlike some, I don’t need a ship to travel half way across the world.”

Geralt snorted, regretting doing so when the small chest perched upon the other two he was carrying swayed to the side.

It turned out that the favour she needed her _brave and noble_ Witcher to see to was helping her cart her luggage to the port. She had no intention of staying behind. It was decided the moment she heard of his arrival, and she’d be going with or without his approval.

“Careful with that, my love!”

Despite his exasperation, Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips. When the last of her belongings were loaded onto the wide-eyed and pot-bellied captain’s ship, Mousesack caught Geralt in a hug.

“Protect her for me?”

Geralt nodded, though they both knew the request was merely a formality. “With my life.”

They both turned when a loud scoff sounded behind them.

“Don’t be so dramatic. If anyone is protecting anyone, it’ll be me.”

Mousesack and Geralt shared a look and shrugged.

She did have a point.

Mousesack clapped Geralt on the shoulder and grinned at his little sister. “Well then, she’s your problem now. I expect to see you both here soon, understood?”

She wrapped him up in a tight hug as the captain called out that it was time to leave.

“Of course. It’ll be like I never left.”

They shared a watery smile, and Geralt cleared his throat, an apologetic look on his face.

“It’s time to go.”

With a shaky smile, she nodded at her brother and accepted the steadying hand Geralt held out to her as she boarded the ship. She stood waving to her brother until the dock was out of sight and Skellige was behind them. Never before had she considered the vastness of the seas, how isolated and alone they could make one feel—nothing but flat horizon on all sides.

But she wasn’t alone. There was a hand holding her upright until she could manage a few shaky steps herself, and a broad chest that pillowed her head as they looked out across the horizon together—one filled with wonder and opportunity. Something new and exciting. 

“Where will we go?” She asked and he gave her hip a reassuring squeeze.

“Wherever you want.”

“Hm…somewhere quiet. I think I’ve had enough of Kings and courts, I want a dog,” she mused, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile. “That, and I think I’d quite like to keep you to myself for a while.”

Geralt hummed, his chest rumbling against her back. “I think I’d like that too. You still owe me two favours after all.”


End file.
